The Silent Guardian
by akirakurosawa
Summary: Castiel contemplates the "rising Dean from Hell" thing, his rebellion, and life in general one night, while watching over boys. Oneshot that would not leave me alone. Not Destiel per se, just my take on some things.


**AN: I am having a rough time right now, and this one's been in my head for way too long. It's not Destiel per se, it's just something that's been bothering me in the back of my mind. It's how I see Dean and Cas's relationship, and the whole "gripped you tight and raised you from perdition" thing.**

 **I am not abandoning any of my other stories - I just need time.**

 **Reviews are much appreciated.**

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 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own Supernatural.**

* * *

Castiel stood in a motel room in Medford, Wisconsin. It was the witching hour, and he could not shake the feeling that he was needed here. Something called to him, and he had a pretty good guess on what it was.

In a bed to his left, Sam Winchester slept soundly, his soft snores the only noise protruding the silence. His feet dangled off the much-too-small motel bed, and Castiel supposed it may be found humorous if it did not look so terribly uncomfortable.

He turned to his right, and there, on his stomach, with one arm under a pillow (holding the gun Castiel knew was there) lay the man Castiel gave everything up for, and would do it all again in a heartbeat.

Dean Winchester.

As he watched the fair-haired man shift in his sleep, unconsciously holding the blanket curled tighter in his fist, Castiel's mind took him to a place he did not visit for a long, long time.

* * *

It was never his purpose to feel.

Moment of his creation was beautiful – he wasn't there at first, and then, in a stolen momentum as the world spun around its axis, he _was_. His Father's face looked upon him, and he knew who he was.

Castiel. Angel of the Lord.

Since the beginning, he was taught to look. To observe. To perceive. To watch quietly as the events unfolded before him, not interfering; never interfering. He was taught to be obedient, never to question, only to follow. And he loved his Father, so he obeyed, and it brought him joy incomprehensible to anyone who did not experience it.

So Castiel watched; the creation of the light and the air and the energy, and the moon and the stars. The creation of every single thing that ever existed and would ever exist, all through the wavelength of time and space and Him. Castiel watched, and his eyes followed all the movement around him, bringing him solace.

Castiel watched the antithesis of the dark; the destruction, the darkness, the emptiness of the universe, he observed it all and took it in stride. He never questioned, never judged, accepting that it was as He wanted it to be. All that Father created, he witnessed; never interfering.

When Father decided to create something more beautiful and more perfect than all His other creations, Castiel watched, and his eyes filled with tears.

 _Humans._

They appeared, flawed and ignorant, short-tempered and vile, confusing, yet more beautiful than anything he's ever laid his eyes upon. They were magnificent.

With their words, their betrayals and forgiveness, their harshness and mellowness, their passions that ran high, they were enticing and radiant. With their mysterious emotions that ran deeper than anything he's ever encountered. They were perfect, and love that Father showed them, even when they angered Him and He wiped half of them out, was no match to His love for the Angels. Father gave them Humans as a gift; yet, Angels could not understand.

They were to serve and protect the most marvelous thing He ever created – He loved his Angels so much, that He believed only them to be capable of the task. He trusted them with Humans, and yet, somehow, his brothers and sisters misunderstood affection for neglect, and substituted love for hate.

Lucifer fell, and Castiel's position changed.

Father wanted him to fight; so he fought. The only thing he ever felt was love towards his Father and Creator, and he fought with his garrison anywhere and everywhere. He recalled them all perfectly, his brothers and sisters, each with a mind of their own, united in their love for Him. They were Warriors of God. They were soldiers. They were _family._

Hester. Castiel's subordinate. The first Angel ever to look at him with her eyes full of trust and wait for the answers, never demanding, never pushing. She never questioned him, ever. She would wait patiently on Castiel, giving him time and space to decide, and she would have followed him wherever. And she did, she always did. Killed by Meg. _Gone_.

Inias. Young, sweet Inias. Always eager to learn, to understand, to grasp all the heavy concepts most Angels never took time to think about. He and Hester walked hand in hand, yet he was always pleased to take a step back and trust her judgment, and trusted Castiel unequivocally. His Capitan. His light. Inias never believed Castiel rebelled, he could not, and now, Castiel knew nothing of his brother. _Gone_.

Bartholomew. The kind, soft spoken brother of his, armed with an angel blade and fierce in his will to do what was right. Bartholomew was the one Castiel went to whenever he needed peace and quiet, and not to feel so alone. They sat in silence and just observed as the workings of divine force for an uncountable amount of time, content with their Graces touching occasionally. Killed by Castiel's hand. _Gone_.

Uriel, God's Light. The ray of light in the dark times, the funniest Angel in the garrison. Angel of repentance, and a dear friend. Eager to please and hot-tempered, always barged into a fight, and never ever stood down. The best strategist their garrison had, always many steps ahead of their enemies. Seduced by Lucifer and his gruesome lies, he betrayed God, claiming He did not exist. Killed by Castiel. _Gone_.

Balthazar. Even speaking the name hurt Castiel. Balthazar, the one constant support he's ever had. A brother, if Castiel ever had one. His wit was unmatched, his courage doubtless, his laughter the most beautiful sound to be heard. One of the mightiest fighters the Angel Army ever had, indestructible on the battlefield, indestructible against enemies, indestructible against all but his dearest. Killed by Castiel's own hand. _Gone_.

Anael, beautiful Anael, Joy of God, the leader of the garrison. Sure in her faith, never relenting, never surrendering. She saved him, many times over and over, with a kind smile and a touch of Grace, and reassured Castiel when he knew not what to think. The first one of them to rebel against the corruption of Heaven. The first one to show Castiel that disobedience was not always a bad thing, and that trusting yourself, and what you believe is right is liberating in ways others can never understand. Killed by Michael. _Gone_.

 _It was never his purpose to feel._

And yet, all of his brothers and sisters were gone, most of them killed by him. And he felt it, the pain, the sorrow, the agony.

Castiel. The silent watchman.

Castiel. The Angel of Thursday.

Castiel. The Captain of his garrison.

Castiel. The self-proclaimed God.

Castiel. The one who showed no mercy.

Castiel. The one who murdered his own brothers and sisters.

Castiel. The one who rebelled.

Castiel. The one who cared too much for a _human._

The weight upon his shoulders became almost unmanageable when he recalled their final mission as a (almost complete) garrison.

 _Save Dean Winchester._

Anael was gone, and Castiel knew not where.

(He would later correctly assume that it was Naomi who brainwashed him into forgetting the last conversation with his sister, in which she begged him to come with her. He would forget how he almost yielded, and how Naomi interfered at the last moment, dragging him away from Anael. He would forget the pain on his sister's face as she fell from her Grace. He would forget the tear in his eyes when he was reset and rebooted to obey and to serve, for God knows which time.)

Castiel was entrusted with the mission of highest importance. Lucifer's plan was set in motion. Apocalypse was inevitable. The First Seal was broken, and it was up to Castiel and his warriors to retrieve The Righteous Man from Hell and prevent any further destruction.

 _Save Dean Winchester._

So he gathered his troops and attacked that fiery pit, the ultimate place of anguish, the burning abyss where souls were mauled and tortured, and their tormentors relished in inhumane screams of pain.

 _Hell._

Uriel planned the simultaneous attack from every side, and Angels stormed the underworld, fighting and smiting demons left and right. The pure evil in that place, mixed with agony almost unbearable, cost them many a brother and sister when they became distracted with cries for help from tortured souls. Inias was almost killed, and would be, if it weren't for Balthazar's quick reaction. Demons were relentless, under strict orders not to allow the Angels to penetrate their inner circles. The fighting was brutal and barbarous, and victims were left behind as Heaven's Warriors fought the abominations of the wretched pit.

Yet all that Castiel could think about, as he fought his way through the scorching inferno, was God's command.

 _Save Dean Winchester._

Castiel found Dean at the bottom, covered in blood of a hundred souls, his own soul barely human and broken to bits. He found him with a knife in his hand and a borderline insane smile on his face, about to put the knife through the heart of a woman screaming before him.

Castiel found Dean Winchester, and although he was tainted by grime and evil of the infernal damnation, there was a glimmer of The Righteous Man's soul that called to the Angel, and now, after all this time, Castiel knew that that was the moment he was bound to the flawed human forever.

Dean's soul was in pieces, broken down to basic outline and fading further into darkness with every victim he tortured. It was almost destroyed, and Castiel thought all was lost and he would have to concede to failure. And then, the most exquisite thing happened.

Dean's soul called to him.

It was barely a whisper among the mayhem surrounding them, but Castiel's Grace recognized it, and he rushed to The Righteous Man, evaporating all in his path. He stood before the beautiful human soul, and he raised his hand and put it on Dean's left shoulder.

Dean Winchester screamed.

Castiel never let go, even as the man trashed violently in his attempts to get away from the Angel. He couldn't. He was bound to the human, because he used his own life force, his Grace, to repair the tarnished soul, the soul that shone the brightest he had ever seen, despite spending forty years in the center of the inferno.

Dean Winchester knew what Castiel was there for, and he fought the Angel every step of the way. Castiel urged his Grace to fix, to mend, to heal, yet Dean fought him in every way imaginable, because he did not think he deserved to be saved. He still didn't, and it infuriated and saddened Castiel beyond measure, because how could he not see it?

It was a matter of love and beauty, Dean's soul, exuding the selflessness unlike anything Castiel has ever seen. It was a perfect work of art, a kaleidoscope of harmony and appeal. A jewel among the filthy rocks surrounding them.

Dean's soul was magnetic in its pureness and captivating in its innocence. Castiel felt every shred of self-depreciation, anger and guilt Dean Winchester felt as Castiel held him tight and raised him from Hell. He felt every piece screaming at him to let go, let go now, because he doesn't deserve it, to let him rot, to let him die, because he enjoyed it, enjoyed the torture, he did, and he is not worthy.

Castiel did not let go. He couldn't.

He was bound to Dean Winchester the moment he felt the desperation and subdued relief the man he held in his arms tried to hide from the Angel. He was gone the moment that soul called to him.

So he fought back, gripping Dean tight and dragging him along as he passed his soldiers in the throes of battle, shielding the fragile man with him as he yelled victory in their ears, ecstatic about the outcome of their mission. They followed him, battered warriors who won the battle fighting off the last of the demon scum, and then they were out, not in Hell anymore.

Castiel could not help himself. As his Grace worked on the repair of the most beautiful soul he ever encountered, Castiel screamed in triumph.

"Dean Winchester is saved!"

* * *

It was never his purpose to feel.

He was to watch, observe, fight and obey.

And yet, as he watched Dean Winchester sleeping in a dirty motel bed, his face relaxed and his chest slowly expanding with every breath the hunter took, as he observed the scars the man wore as witnesses of many fights he was in, Castiel fought with himself once again, and lost, as he always did.

He could not blindly obey Heaven ever again, because he fell.

He fell for the human hunter laying in bed in front of him, unaware of the Angel that watched over him.

Castiel recalled how he once told Dean that he had better things to do than to perch upon his shoulder. It was a long time ago, when Castiel was angry and confused about all new developments and emotions he was unable to process. He smiled briefly, tentatively grasping the irony of the situation.

His Father gave the Angels the ultimate gift. Humans. He gave His best work to his Children, urging them to take upon themselves roles of protectors and to love and cherish His creation. He never intended there to be any disagreement; He loved all his Children equally.

And Castiel finally understood.

He understood why Father wanted them to care. He understood perfectly.

Because, even though they were flawed, even though they could be perceived as weak, even though the humans were easily corrupted and swayed, they had the ability to love endlessly and selflessly, and to sacrifice themselves for the ones they loved. And it made them perfect.

"Cas."

Dean shifted in his sleep, and Castiel flinched. He was not just Castiel, Angel of the Lord anymore. He was not just Castiel for a long time, ever since his Grace touched the soul of The Righteous Man in Hell and mended the bruised beacon of light.

Ever since the moment he gripped Dean tight and rose him from perdition, he had been _Cas_ \- the protector, the friend, the _family_ of Dean Winchester.

So with a small smile, Cas laid his hand gently on Dean's left shoulder, where the mark of his hand lay, and shot a piece of his Grace into the hunter, making sure Dean's dreams turned pleasant and enabling the man a couple of hours of peaceful sleep. Then he turned and went to sit in the chair, patiently waiting for the new dawn to rise, and for the human he gave up Heaven for to wake up and greet the day with a smile on his face.


End file.
